


The Death of the Kings

by ThisisJustaFan



Series: The Kings [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Medical Procedures, Post Revolution, and he's got friends!, he didn't die!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisJustaFan/pseuds/ThisisJustaFan
Summary: We stopped chanting, for the first time in a long, long time, we were silent. They were gone, the Old King died due to a cancer years ago as far as we were concerned and his “warrior sons” were dead, hanged and poisoned. Now what? We’d been chanting for so long, what do we do now?I guess the only thing we can do is heal, lord knows both the land and the people need it after so many years of abuse.





	The Death of the Kings

**Author's Note:**

> I started something...will I finish it tho?

I wake up, and know something's not right. How? How am I even alive? Is James dead? What happened to Edmund? What happened? Why am I moving so mu-oh. I’m on a stretcher, it’s jolting up and down really fast, huh, that must have been why I woke up.

“-‘s awake.” I hear, it sounds distant, almost underwater.

“Oh my god, what the hell were you thinking brat? Why couldn’t you just stick to the plan? It was simple, easy to follow. Why would you do this to yourself?” A women enters my field of vision, she jolting up and dow-no, wait, that’s me. She looks kind of out of breath, oh, she’s running with me.

“Hey Martia,” I start entering a coughing fit, when was talking meant to be so damn difficult.

“Don’t “hey Martia” me, ass hat.” She slapped my hand, but it didn’t have as much force behind it as usual, she was worried. “Why did you do that? Hmm?” she whispers as I’m put down somewhere, she follows the stretcher down. “Lord, you’re an idiot.” She mumbles playfully.

“Alright now, out of the way,” the rebel doctor comes in, pushing those who weren’t fast enough out the way. The rebel doctor is an old woman, who always seems to be rushing off somewhere and is unafraid to push those in her way, she’s always wearing a medical mask too, we don’t know her name and we don’t ask for it, we just call her the Doc, that would be much to dangerous, we didn’t even know if she was an old woman but we don’t care, she’s loyal and knows her stuff. 

“What the bloody hell did you do?” The doctor asks. “Fetch me the needle and some scissors Son, and get everyone out while you’re at it. Martia, grab a water flask for him and help me get his shirt off.” Martia and Son, go to do their tasks and the Doc lifts my shirt, she sighs “At least the wound is clean. Honestly why couldn’t you stab yourself with something smaller?” She mutters, exasperated.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to “go big or go home”?” I reply, teasing, although the raspiness of my voice lost most of that affect.

Son returns first, handing the Doc both scissors and her needle and thread. Son’s name isn’t actually Son that’s just what we call him, he’s been here a lot longer than I have, and longer than the Doc too, but apparently when he first came he was small, slim and starving; now though, now he’s tall, broad, muscular and just healthier, but he was called Son when he first came and the name’s stuck.

Martia came back and handed me a flask as the Doc got to work, cutting off my once crisp, white shirt, cutting down the middle, from my stomach to my neck then cutting off the arms, from my wrists right to the centre of my chest, exposing my body to the slight breeze of the evening air.

There was a long silence as the Doc stitched up my wound, Son cleaning up after her and Martia, just being there, like she always has. I’m the first one to break the silence, “Is it done?” I ask and they know I’m not talking about the stitches.

“Yes.” Martia answers, she always does.

“You’re not a suspect.” Son speaks for the first time since I woke up, and I turn my attention from the ceiling towards him, his voice deeper than when I last spoke to him four years ago, it was almost growling but smooth at the same time, he'd always had a deep voice, deeper than mine, but it was different this time, it was relaxing, soothing to listen to but he never was a man of words and that probably hasn't changed.

“I didn’t even open my mouth.” I smirk, chuckling.

“You didn’t need to.” He responds looking at me and I hum looking back at the ceiling, letting the silence take over once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Martia is pronounced mar-tea-ah.
> 
> No I'm not revealing his name yet but the main character is a male.


End file.
